Jones Family Holiday
by Sk8er Chica
Summary: A series of drabbles about the Joneses celebrating various holidays. post-KotCS
1. Fourth of July

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING!**

**A/N: Yeah, I know this is a couple weeks late, but I had some computer issues and couldn't post it earlier. Hope y'all enjoy it!**

For Indiana Jones, the Fourth of July was usually a day like any other, no barbecues, no going to watch fireworks, just a few drinks in his study alone to mark the occasion. This year was different; he would be spending it with his wife Marion and their son Mutt. Marion had insisted on having a celebration, since this was going to be their first holiday as a family. She had just finished decorating the backyard with red-white-and-blue streamers and was now in the house.

Indy poured some charcoal into their brand-new grill. He couldn't remember the last time he'd used one, but he figured it had to be close to cooking over a campfire, something he was quite used to. He examined the container of lighter fluid in his hand, not sure how much was the appropriate amount. He decided to just sprinkle the stuff over the charcoal and stop when he thought there was enough. Indy did just that, placed the grate on the grill, and reached for the box of matches on the picnic table. He struck a match across the box, then quickly dropped it onto the charcoal. The resulting two-foot high flames and loud _whoosh _sound were enough to startle even a seasoned adventurer like himself.

"Indy, are you all right?" Marion called, sticking her head out the kitchen window.

"Yeah, Marion, everything's fine!" Indy called back.

He noticed some appetizing smells drifting out the kitchen window and decided to investigate. He entered the house through the back door and looked around the kitchen. There was a bowl of potato salad on the counter, in between a cherry pie and a plate of fresh brownies. Indy found himself unable to resist the temptation the brownies presented. Marion was currently occupied with getting hamburgers and hot dogs out of the refrigerator, so he decided to use that to his advantage. But no sooner had grabbed one from the plate than she turned around and caught him.

"Indiana Jones!" she scolded.

"Come on, Marion, it's just one brownie," Indy reasoned.

"We have to wait for our guests." Marion insisted.

Marion had invited their mutual friend (and sort of godfather to Mutt) Harold Oxley to the barbecue. Indy's old friend from Egypt, Sallah, had always been interested in attending an American Independence Day celebration, so Indy had decided to let him in on the fun too.

"You oughta know better than to leave these sitting around," said Indy, reluctantly setting down his brownie. "Mutt's liable come along and eat the whole plate." (Sometimes, he swore the kid had been born with a bottomless pit in place of a stomach). Indy suddenly realized he hadn't seen his son that day. "Where is he, anyway, still in bed?"

Marion shook her head. "I sent him to the store to get a watermelon, some ice cream, and potato chips."

"How the hell is he gonna get a watermelon home?" Indy wanted to know. He had a fleeting vision of Mutt strapping the watermelon to the back of his motorcycle, only to have it slip off somehow and splatter all over the road.

"He'll figure out some way. He _is_ your son," said Marion.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

"I'll get it," said Indy.

He walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. Through the window, he noticed a yellow taxi idling in front of the house. Indy opened the front door and grinned at the person standing on his front porch. Sallah's hair and beard were definitely grayer and his face sported more and deeper lines than the last time Indy had seen him, but other than that, Sallah was his usual plump, jolly self.

"Indy!" Sallah shouted delightedly, embracing his old friend.

When he let go, Indy noticed a couple of suitcases sitting on the porch. He picked them up and brought them inside. Sallah followed and Indy suddenly noticed his friend's attire: a bowling shirt with Tiki gods and palm trees printed on it, a pair of Bermuda shorts, leather sandals, and a New York Yankees baseball cap. This outfit was hardly unusual by American standards, but definitely strange for Sallah. Indy guessed he was trying to blend in with the locals.

"I am so pleased you have invited me to your home," Sallah was saying. "It has been far too long, my friend, far too long."

"It sure has, Sallah," Indy agreed.

"You said in your letter that you're married now, Indy," said Sallah. "Where is your wife?"

"She's in the kitchen." Indy showed Sallah the way. Marion was sitting at the table, cutting little stars out of tinfoil to hang in the backyard. "Sallah, I'd like you to meet Mrs. Marion Jones."

"It's nice to see you again," said Marion.

"It's a pleasure, Marion. Oh, the years have been kind to you; you're as beautiful as I remember."

"Watch it, that's my wife you're talking to."

Sallah chuckled. "I knew it!" he exclaimed. "I knew she would be the one to tame you, Indy."

"Well, I wouldn't say he's tame, but I did manage to house-break him," Marion quipped, causing Sallah to roar with laughter. "I did a lot of cooking today, so I hope you brought an appetite."

"When was the last time I accepted a dinner invitation without an appetite?" asked Sallah, jiggling his ample belly.

A moment later, Indy heard the front door open. He looked around the kitchen doorway and saw Oxley walk through the living room toward them. Neither Indy nor Marion was particularly bothered about Oxley letting himself in; he had a key, after all, and he'd had a habit of dropping in on people since they'd known him.

Indy, Sallah, Marion, and Oxley spent a long time in deep conversation, catching up on what had been happening in each other's lives recently. Indy eventually excused himself to take the hamburgers and hot dogs outside and check to see if the grill was hot enough to cook anything yet. Yeah, it was definitely ready. Indy picked up a hamburger and was about to set it on the grill when he realized they might still be missing someone.

"Marion!" he called.

Several minutes passed, then Marion appeared in the backyard. "What is it, Indy?" she asked.

"What time did you send Mutt to the store?" he wanted to know.

"Around 2:30 or so, I guess." Marion replied.

"Is he back yet?"

"No."

Indy glanced at the watch on his wife's wrist. "He's been gone for two hours. What the hell's happened, he get lost in the supermarket?"

"Mutt can be a little distractable sometimes," Marion reasoned.

"He might not be if he'd take a sleeping pill once in a while," Indy pointed out. "I keep tellin' him he's gonna drive himself crazy not sleeping for days."

Indy set the hamburger he'd been holding on the grill.

"What're you doing?" asked Marion.

"Making dinner." Indy said, somewhat confused by the question.

"But Mutt isn't here."

"I know that, Marion."

"Indy, this is our first holiday as a family. We can't start eating without him. It'd be rude," Marion's voice was rising slightly.

"Well, we can't sit around all night waiting for him to show up either," Indy argued.

He started to cook a few more hamburgers and hot dogs. Marion watched her husband cook, debating with herself about whether or not to call the police. Sure, Mutt had proven that he was definitely capable of taking care of himself, but still...he'd been gone way too long. Distractable or no, it shouldn't have taken Mutt this much time to get a few groceries. She was just about to go into the house to make the call when she heard loud engine noise coming from the driveway, a sound that could only be made by her son's motorcycle.

A few minutes later, Mutt entered the yard via the gate. Because of the heat, he wasn't wearing his trademark leather jacket. Instead, he wore a black T-shirt with the sleeves cut off to display his lean, muscular arms. He was sweating a little as he awkwardly balanced a carton of ice cream, a huge watermelon, a bag of chips, and a rather large crate. Indy relieved his son of the groceries and set them on the picnic table. Mutt hung onto the crate.

"And just where have you been, Henry Jones III?" Marion asked, hands on her hips.

"Shopping, ma'am." He only called his mom that when she got angry enough to call him by his real name; curiously, he never called his dad "sir" in similar situations.

"Is that the truth?" Marion wanted to know.

Mutt put the crate down in the grass beside the picnic table and fished a Dr. Pepper out of the cooler. He drew his switchblade from his pocket, flicked it open, and used it to remove the bottle top. He sat down on the tabletop and took a long drink before answering.

"Yeah, it's the truth. It took me a while to get the watermelon strapped on my bike and when I hit a bump on my way home, it fell off. I had to go back to the store and by then, the ice cream was dripping everywhere. I ran into this girl I know at the store and we started talking. I replaced the stuff and then I came straight home."

"What's in the crate, son?" Indy inquired.

"Say, Pops, is dinner almost done? I'm starved."

Indy could tell when his son was trying to change the subject, so he crouched to examine the crate for himself. Mutt watched nervously as he read the words "DANGER--EXPLOSIVES" stamped into the wood. He straightened up to his full height, glaring at his son. Mutt had to admit that, even in a "Kiss the Cook" apron, his dad was pretty damn intimidating.

"What the hell are these?" Indy demanded.

Mutt shrugged. "Just some fireworks."

"Fireworks aren't legal in this state. Where'd you get 'em?"

Another shrug. "I don't know. Some guy was selling 'em out of his pickup."

"And you bought them."

"Dad, it's not Fourth of July without fireworks."

Dangerous as this purchase was, Indy found it hard to argue with that logic. Hardly anybody celebrated America's birthday without them after the war.

Marion let out the deep breath she'd been holding. "Henry Jones III," she repeated. "Do you have any idea how dangerous those things are if you don't know what you're doing? I thought I raised you to have better sense than that. You're just lucky the police didn't catch you or you'd be in jail right now. This is one of the stupidest, most reckless things you've ever done and that's saying something." She paused for air, then asked her son sharply, "You know what I should do to you?"

Mutt didn't say anything. He knew better than to give his mom suggestions for how he should be punished. He'd done that a few times and his mom had always chosen to use his ideas, which were often more severe than the punishments she'd considered herself.

"I should send you to bed without any dinner." Marion finished.

The hazel-green eyes Mutt had inherited from his father widened. "Mom!" he exclaimed. He tried desperately to think of an alternative punishment; he'd been craving Marion's brownies all day.

Marion held up a palm. "That's what I _should _do to you and what I _would _do if we weren't having company over. What I'm _going _to do is send you to bed as soon as you finish eating and take away the bike for a couple days." She turned her hand over. "Give me the keys."

Mutt retrived them from with his back pocket and dropped them into his mother's hand without so much as an eye-roll. This definitely beat the other idea she had.

The back door opened and Oxley and Sallah walked out into the yard. The mood lightened considerably when Sallah dashed toward the picnic table, nearly tripping over his own sandals, on a collision course with Mutt.

"Little Indy!" roared Sallah, pulling him into a bear hug so tight the kid swore he felt his ribs cracking.

"Yep," Indy said, flipping a burger. "That's our son Mutt."

Sallah let go of Mutt, a puzzled look on his face. "He is named after the dog too?"

Marion chuckled. "No, Mutt is his nickname. He's named Henry after his father."

There was silence for a while as each of the Joneses each took a role in serving the meal. Marion doled out potato salad, Indy handed out hot dogs and hamburgers, and Mutt carved the watermelon with his switchblade. They swapped stories and a few jokes over dinner, dessert was reserved for complimenting Marion repeatedly on her pie and brownies.

"Now I know why so many people move to this country," said Sallah, laying down his fork, "to enjoy these wonderful foods all the time."

"Glad you enjoyed it, Sallah," said Marion, smiling.

He sighed. "I only wish my dear wife had chosen to accompany me. She's never cared much for traveling."

_The poor woman doesn't know what she's missing_, thought Marion.

Across the table from her, Mutt was yawning. He was tired and stuffed, but there was something he really wanted to do before bed. He wasn't sure he'd be able to, but it was worth a try. "Dad, can I see your lucky charm?"

"My shamrock lighter? Why?" mumbled an equally sleepy Indy.

"I just wanna have a little fun before Mom takes my bike away and grounds me." he said innocently.

Without really thinking about it, Indy handed the lighter over. Before anybody could stop him, Mutt had the fireworks crate open. It wasn't long before firecrackers were popping. Bottle rockets, Catherine wheels, and Roman candles were soaring into the sky over the Joneses backyard. Sallah was laughing loudly and applauding, Oxley didn't look very pleased, and Indy had passed out on the table and didn't notice what was happening.

'_I wonder if all our holidays are going to be this interesting...' _Marion wondered.

**THE END**


	2. Road Trip!

**A/N: Some of you may remember me posting this chapter a couple of days ago. I deleted it in order to make some improvements, then reposted it. As always, feedback is welcome.**

It was a scorching summer day. A black Buick sedan was cruising south along Highway 95 in New Jersey; its occupants had rolled down all the windows in hopes of cooling themselves off. The Joneses were on their way to spend a week in a rented cottage in Cape May. Mutt was dozing peacefully in the backseat, save for making an occasional small noise in his sleep. Indy was driving with one hand on the steering wheel and his other arm around Marion's shoulders.

"I can't believe it. All those places you've traveled and you've never been to the ocean," she said, sliding closer to her husband so she could lean against him.

"My dad wasn't exactly big on family vacations, not unless they were connected to the Grail somehow. During the war, I did a couple of missions in the Pacific. I spent some time looking at the ocean, but I never got to enjoy it since I wasn't exactly traveling for pleasure." said Indy.

"I'm sure you'll love The Shore," said Marion. "Mutt and I always have."

Indy suddenly felt something smash into the back of his head, jarring his neck and nearly causing him to lose his grip on the steering wheel.

"Indy, maybe you should let me drive for a while," Marion suggested.

"I'm not tired, Marion," said Indy, blinking a few stars out of his eyes. "Something just hit me in the head."

He now felt a slight brushing against his elbow, and whatever was making contact with his skin was hard and rubber. Indy glanced to his right, wondering what it could be. He saw, propped up on top of the front seat, a pair of well-worn black Converse Chuck Taylor sneakers. He took a moment to silently thank God that his son hadn't been wearing his motorcycle boots; those things probably would have knocked him out cold _and _split his head open.

Marion turned her head slightly to see what her husband was looking at. Her gaze traveled past the sneakers and to the backseat. Mutt had scrunched way down in the seat, his white T-shirt riding up almost to his chest. It was amazing to her how the simple act of falling asleep made their normally smart-mouthed and hardheaded son appear so young and vulnerable.

"Oh, Indy, doesn't he look innocent when he's sleeping?" she said, a soft, maternal smile illuminating her features.

Indy caught a quick glimpse of Mutt in the rearview mirror. He grinned himself and kissed Marion's cheek. "He sure does, honey."

"It's almost too quiet in here," Marion said, letting out a little sigh. Checking the mirror again, she added, "He's gonna wind up with an awful crick in his neck if he sleeps that way much longer."

"Not to mention what his hair's going to look like," Indy added with a chuckle.

Marion couldn't help giggling at that. When their shared laughter subsided, Marion kissed her husband on the lips. The sneakers bumped Indy's elbow again, this time a little more violently.

"Mutt!" Indy said somewhat loudly. "Mutt! Your feet!"

His son's indignant grunt was followed shortly after by the gentle scuff of his sneakers against the leather upholstery. Indy checked the mirror and saw him lying lengthwise across the backseat.

"Marion, will you hand me the map?" Indy requested. Even when traveling in charted places, he still liked to check his bearings once in a while, just to make sure he was heading in the right direction.

Marion retrieved a map from the glove compartment and handed it to her husband. He clumsily unfolded it and spread it out on the dashboard. He attempted to keep one eye on the map and one on the road; Marion grabbed the steering wheel in an attempt to keep the car from drifting too much.

"Jones!" she shouted, slightly panicky.

Indy took control of the steering wheel again. He wildly swerved onto the shoulder, causing Mutt to roll right off the backseat and crash facefirst into the floorboards. While his mom was shouting at his dad for driving recklessly, Mutt took the opportunity to mutter a few curses under his breath. He wondered why his dad had stopped so suddenly. Had he gotten off the interstate to find a place for them to eat lunch? He lifted his head enough to see out the window. No, it looked more like they were pulled over on the side of the highway. Did they have a flat tire? Engine trouble? Propping himself on his arms, Mutt observed the argument now taking place in the front seat.

"Where the hell is Route 9?" Indy said, frustrated. "I can't even find it on the damn map."

Marion shook her head. "Unbelievable. You can decipher clues written in dead languages and find artifacts in the most godforsaken places, but you can't read a simple road map." She sharply tapped a thin red stripe on the paper. "_That's _Route 9."

"But according to this, we're here," Indy pointed to a different section of the map. "And Route 9 is there." He pointed out the red stripe.

"If that's true, then we should be there by now," said Marion.

Mutt pushed himself up from the floor and perched on the edge of the backseat. He glanced in the mirror and noticed he had a terrible cowlick. He took his comb from his back pocket and ran it through his hair several times. Once satisfied with his appearance, he laid his comb beside him on the seat. Then Mutt leaned forward, folded his arms, and set them atop the front seat, resting his chin on his forearms. His mom spotted him over her shoulder and smiled.

"Did you have a nice nap, sweetheart?" she asked.

Mutt nodded, then asked a question of his own, even though he was certain of the answer. "Did Pop get us lost?"

"We are not lost," said Indy through gritted teeth. "This map was simply drawn by morons."

Mutt noticed his dad was squinting pretty severely at the map and suggested, "Or maybe you should've brought your reading glasses."

"I don't need those things. My eyesight's better now than it was at your age," Indy said defensively.

"Right," Mutt said sarcastically. "That's how I ended up with dog shampoo in my bathroom."

Indy's face reddened slightly. It wasn't _his _fault Marion had gone away one weekend, leaving him in charge of the kid (and the shopping). "That's why you should've come to the store with me instead of having a tantrum like a three-year-old," Indy said calmly.

Mutt's eyes narrowed.

"Boys," said Marion firmly, obviously scenting danger. "Let's not do this right now. You can kill each other when we get to the cottage, _if _we can come up with a plan to get there."

"Well, Daddy-o, how about sliding over and letting me drive for a while?" asked Mutt.

"Absolutely not," said Indy. He remembered all too well a wild motorcycle ride through Marshall's campus, including a very interesting detour through the library. After that, how could he trust his son behind the wheel of a car?

"I'm not gonna get us lost any worse," Mutt promised. "I know exactly where we are."

"How? You've been taking a siesta for the last 3 hours." his dad challenged.

"Indy, what's the harm in it?" said Marion. "You look like you could use a rest."

"Don't talk to me like I'm a doddering old fool. I've gotten out of worse scrapes than taking a wrong turn off the highway. Don't you remember--"

"Indy, let...Mutt...drive," Marion said in a very final way.

Reluctantly, Indy opened his door and got out of the car. Mutt vaulted over the front seat, landing perfectly in front of the steering wheel. And, because only total squares kept both hands on the steering wheel, Mutt let his left elbow hang out of the open window. He turned on the radio and fiddled with the dial until he found a rock 'n roll station. He cranked up the volume, tapping his palm against the doorsill in time to Ritchie Valens' "La Bamba."

From the backseat, Indy caught a glimpse of the smirk of his son's face. He had a brief flashback to an expedition years earlier. His young sidekick Short Round had had that exact look on his face, right before he planted his foot on the accelerator and taken them on a treacherous journey through the streets of Shanghai. Without warning, Mutt made a sharp U-turn. Now they were traveling on the opposite side of the highway. The Buick zoomed along for several miles, then arrived at a highway junction ramp. Mutt veered to the left, taking them onto Route 9.

"Straight shot from here, Daddy-o!" Mutt called to his dad.

"Then you won't mind giving me back the wheel?" Indy called back.

Mutt laughed. "What's the matter? You scared?"

"No, I am not scared," Indy said defiantly. "It's just...you shouldn't be on the highway just yet. You're a new driver."

"Indy, Mutt got his license the minute he turned sixteen," said Marion. "He's experienced."

"With a motorcycle."

"Dad, relax. I can drive anything with wheels on it," Mutt said coolly.

"Can you fly a plane?" Indy questioned.

"Um...no."

"Ah-ha!" Indy exclaimed. "Planes have wheels on the landing gear. So there _is _something with wheels you can't drive."

Mutt, surprisingly, didn't have an argument for that. This was most likely because a carload of girls had pulled up beside the Buick. The girls were hanging out the windows, waving and blowing kisses to him. Mutt returned the gestures, nearly plowing into a tractor-trailer in front of him. Indy kept his eyes closed after that.  
Two nerve-wracking hours later, the Joneses arrived at the rented cottage in Cape May. They got out of the car and began unloading their luggage...or rather, unloading Marion's luggage. Indy and Mutt just had a suitcase apiece.

They made their way up the short stepping-stone path to the cottage, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. The cottage was cozy, just the right size for three people. Its decor and furnishings were all decidely nautical. Mutt kicked off his sneakers and quickly toured the house. One of the bedrooms had a massive, skeletal set of shark jaws mounted on the wall; he immediately chose that room to be his for the week. As he exited the bedroom and walked back through the kitchen, his dad pressed a couple of wrinkled dollar bills into his hand.

"What's this for?" Mutt asked.

"Go find some way to amuse yourself for a while," said Indy. He winked and added quietly, "That car ride scared a few years off my life, so I'd like a little alone time with your mom."

Mutt shook his head disgustedly. "You guys are gross."

"Us being 'gross' is how you got here, buster." Marion had overheard them.

Mutt slipped his shoes back on and left the cottage. He headed off down the street, trying to get _that_ disturbing picture out of his brain.

**THE END**


	3. First Day of School

**A/N: I don't own the lyrics in this chapter.**

'RIIIIING! RRRRRINGGGG! RRRRIIIINNNNGGGG!'

Indiana Jones groped blindly for the alarm clock on his bedside table. After a minute, his fingers curled around the metal object and he was able to shut it off.

"Good morning, Marion," he mumbled. When the only reply was silence, he assumed she was still asleep.

Indy rolled over and reached out to wake her. His arm bounced off the mattress beside him. Indy threw the covers off himself and hopped out of bed. He retrieved his best suit from the closet, took off his pajamas, and put on the suit and his favorite tie. He combed his hair and balanced his tortoise-shell glasses on his nose before leaving the bedroom. He whistled merrily as he entered the kitchen, where Marion was cooking breakfast. This morning's menu: blueberry pancakes and scrambled eggs. Indy kissed his wife on the cheek, then continued whistling.

"Dr. Jones, you are as giddy as a schoolboy this morning." Marion grinned.

Indy couldn't help himself. He loved the first day of a new semester: the crispness of the fall air and the crunch of leaves under his feet as he walked across campus, the smell of chalk and the way it felt in his fingertips, and the genuine pleasure he derived from teaching a new batch of students about the ancient world.

"And I'm not the only one going back to school." Indy said cheerfully, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

After weeks of shouting matches, Mutt had (grudgingly) agreed to finish high school and earn his diploma. Indy had tried to get Mutt accepted at the few private schools he hadn't already quit or been kicked out of, but was told by each one that there were no available spots and he should've applied earlier. So Mutt was going to attend Rydell High, the local public school. Indy personally felt a private school would've offered a better education, but a high school diploma was a high school diploma.

Indy sat down at the table with his coffee, preparing to read over his syllabus and opening lecture and revise them if necessary. He realized he'd left his briefcase in the bedroom and went to retrieve it. Once he had, he decided to check if Mutt was up. He hoped he wasn't going to try playing sick to get out of going to school; Indy was in a good mood and didn't want anything to spoil it. He was just about to knock on the door to his son's room when he saw the bathroom door open. Mutt stepped out of it, clad in a bathrobe, his curly hair dripping wet. Several days' worth of stubble covered his face.

"I was just about to wake you up," Indy said by way of a morning greeting.

"I don't need _you _to wake me up; I'm not a little kid," Mutt retorted.

Indy got a better look at the kid and realized Mutt was wearing _his _bathrobe. Hadn't he told the kid to _ask permission _before borrowing his stuff? Well, Indy supposed he could deal with that later. His son making a good first impression on his teachers was a more immediate matter. Indy jerked his thumb in the direction of the bathroom and said, "How 'bout you go back in there and shave, huh?"

"Forget it," said Mutt.

"If you won't shave on your own, I'd be glad to help you," Indy said calmly.

"But girls dig a little scruff on a man," Mutt protested.

"I don't care what the girls 'dig.' You look like you haven't washed your face in a week." Indy checked his watch. He wasn't sure what time the kid had to be at school, but his gut told him they were cutting it close. "Hurry up and shave and put some clothes on. Breakfast is almost ready."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." said Mutt, going into his room and slamming the door.

"And make sure I get my robe back," Indy called through the door.

Indy returned to the kitchen and pored over the lecture he'd written the previous night until Marion set a plate in front of him. Indy put his briefcase and papers aside, devoting his full attention to his breakfast. The sound of footsteps across the floor, followed by the lid being taken off the cookie jar brought him out of his reverie.

"Mutt, stop foraging!" Marion scolded. "Sit down and eat something."

Indy looked up from his plate. Mutt was leaning against the counter, clean-shaven again (thank God for small favors). He was dressed in his leather jacket, blue jeans, a gray T-shirt with a navy blue collar, and boots.

"You're not wearing that," Indy said firmly.

"Yeah, I am," Mutt shot back defiantly, dropping into a chair across from his dad.

"No, you're not," Indy argued.

In a further act of rebellion, Mutt extracted his tan cap from his back pocket. He put it on his head and tilted it to what he felt was a rakish angle.

"Marion, tell him he can't go to school looking like a hood." Indy thought Mutt might listen if both parents presented a united front.

"Mom, tell him I shaved, so I get to wear what I want." Mutt countered.

"Don't even try to put me in the middle of this, you two," Marion said sternly. She set a plate on the table in front of Mutt. "Here's your breakfast, sweetheart."

"Thanks, Mom," said Mutt, reaching across the table for the butter dish and syrup.

He spread a huge chunk of butter over his pancakes, then poured half the bottle of syrup over them.

Indy still didn't like the kid's outfit, but he didn't want to spoil his own good mood by arguing with Mutt, so he decided to change the subject. "Do you want me to drop you off at school?" he asked, watching his son pick up his silverware and dig into his food.

Mutt shook his head. He moved his fork from his right hand to his left, reached into his jacket pocket, and retrieved his motorcycle keys. He held them up so his dad could see.

"Son, I don't think--" Indy started.

"Only squares get dropped off," Mutt interrupted. "Besides," he added through a mouthful of eggs and pancake, "Mom said I could take the bike."

Indy glanced at Marion. "Did you?" he inquired, wanting to make sure Mutt wasn't trying to pull a fast one.

"Yes," she answered, putting her coffee mug in the sink. "And you know better than to talk with your mouth full, young man."

"Sorry."

"Before you go, I'd like to say a couple of things," said Marion in a firm sort of voice.

"Mom, I'm eating," said Mutt.

"I can see that. Just listen to me, all right?" said Marion. "First of all, I expect you to behave yourself this year. If I get even one call from your principal, you're grounded, no motorcycle. And I know you've never gone to a coed school before, but don't get too distracted by the girls."

"I'll try, Mom." he promised.

Mutt glanced at the clock. 7:45. School didn't start until 8:15, but he still had to register for classes so he probably ought to leave soon. He dropped his knife and fork on his plate and stood up from the table. Indy followed suit; he had an early class that morning. Marion picked up a brown paper bag that was sitting on the counter and handed it to their son.

"Here's your lunch." she said. She kissed him on the cheek. "I love you, Mutt."

"Love you too, Mom," said Mutt, returning the kiss.

As Mutt tucked the bag into the inside pocket of his jacket, Marion handed a second paper bag to Indy. "And there's yours." She stood looking at the men in her life for a moment, smiling. "Have a good day at school."

"We will," both Henrys said together.

Indy kissed his wife on the lips and whispered, "I love you, honey," before leaving the kitchen with Mutt.

Once in the driveway, father and son went their seperate ways. Indy headed for the car; Mutt hopped on his motorcycle. He roared out of the driveway before Indy even had a chance to unlock the car door. Less than ten minutes of riding later, Mutt spotted the high school, an imposing three-story brick building. A brick-and-concrete sign on the lawn read "Rydell High School, Home of the Rangers." He idled into the parking lot. The students milling around stared as the greaser eased his bike into the nearest parking space.

Mutt dropped the kickstand and slowly climbed down from the Harley. He swallowed hard and began walking toward the front steps, his body tingling unpleasantly and his stomach quivering from nervousness. He climbed the front steps and went through the front door of the school. He stood for a moment, looking around for the main office. He spotted it about 10 feet down the hall on his left. Mutt entered the office and stood in front of a short counter.

"How may I help you?" asked the grandmotherly, bespectacled secretary.

"I'm starting here today and I still need to register for classes," Mutt explained.

The secretary produced a stack of forms and a pencil from underneath the counter. "There you are, dear."

He picked up the pencil and started to fill out the forms. He put his first name down as "Mutt" out of pure habit and had to erase his last name after writing "Williams" in the blank instead of "Jones." He kept forgetting his mom had changed it after the wedding. Mutt quickly got bored with the registration forms and began humming "Hound Dog" to keep himself somewhat entertained. He thought he was humming under his breath, so he was more than a little startled to hear to someone put words to the tune:

"_Well, you ain't never caught a rabbit; you ain't no friend of mine," _sang a soft female voice to his right.

Mutt jumped slightly and turned his head to see the girl who was singing. She had a round face with a slightly square jaw, a slightly upturned nose, shapely lips, and long eyelashes that framed a pair of almost shockingly blue eyes; her shoulder-length caramel blond hair was loose, curled, and ratted. The girl wore a canary yellow dress that belted at the waist, accenting her hourglass figure, and white high-heeled shoes to match the belt. The heels did little to disguise the fact she was two heads shorter than him. In Mutt's opinion, she wasn't movie-star gorgeous, but cute in that girl-next-door sort of way.

_Why do I get the feeling I've seen her before? _he thought as he slid his registration card toward the secretary.

"This is a temporary schedule for you," said the secretary, handing him a yellow sheet of paper. She passed a white sheet to the girl and said, "Here's yours, Johanna, dear."

Mutt suddenly realized where he'd seen the girl, Johanna, before: Arnie's Diner. She was a waitress there and she and Mutt had become pretty friendly with each other over the summer. Mutt had spent most of his waking hours at Arnie's for several weeks when the air conditioner at the Joneses' house had broken down.

He watched as Johanna tucked the schedule into one of her notebooks and left the office. Mutt noticed a brown paper bag and a small white pocketbook lying on the counter. Figuring the items belonged to the girl named Johanna, he scooped them up and hurried down the hall. He quickly spotted the back of a yellow dress and called, "Johanna!"

The girl turned around. "Yes?" she said.

Mutt held up the paper bag and pocketbook. "You forgot your stuff in the office."

"Thanks a lot," she said gratefully. She studied Mutt carefully as he passed over her things. "Wait a minute. Don't I know you from somewhere?" She thought for a moment, then said, "Your name's Mutt. You're a regular at Arnie's, right?"

Mutt nodded. "Yeah. You've got a real good memory."

"Thanks," said Johanna. She checked her watch. "We'd better get going or we'll be late for class."

For the first time, Mutt checked his schedule. 1st period: Biology; 2nd period: Senior English; 3rd period: Gym; 4th period: study hall/lunch; 5th period: Geometry; 6th period: Auto Mechanics. Not bad, overall. He quickly scanned the second and third columns on the sheet, which listed teachers' names and room numbers.

"Hey, Johanna, do you know where Room 203 is?" Mutt inquired.

"Up those stairs," she began, pointing toward a doorway several feet down the hall, "make a left and it's the second door on the left."

"Could you say that again, please?" Mutt requested. His brain was not used to functioning at this hour of the morning.

"I'll just show you." said Johanna, starting to lead the way.

Mutt walked alongside her, doing his best to keep his long legs moving at a pace the considerably smaller Johanna would find comfortable. The stairway was narrow, so he had to climb up behind her.

"So do you have lunch 4th period?" Mutt wanted to know.

"Everybody does," said Johanna as they emerged onto the landing. "Why?"

Trying to play it cool, Mutt shrugged. "No reason. I just need someone to show me where the cafeteria is."

"Greasers don't eat in the cafeteria, at least not if we can help it," Johanna explained. "Walk up to the DX on the corner when the study hall bell rings. I always have lunch there with my friends; I could introduce you around."

"Sounds great." They were now outside Mutt's biology classroom. "See ya later, alligator." He offered her a grin and a wink before disappearing into Room 203.

_Maybe school won't be too bad after all, _he thought as he showed the teacher his registration card.

**THE END**


	4. Halloween

**A/N: The tone of this chapter is a little different. Hope you enjoy anyway. Have a safe and happy Halloween!**

Indy stood in front of the bedroom mirror, surveying his attire: black boots he hadn't worn in ages, royal-blue pants, a puffy white shirt, a royal-blue vest with matching cape that were both elaborately embroidered with gold and silver thread, and to top it off, a blue hat with a large white feather sticking out of it. He also had a plastic dimestore sword belted to his waist. Marion, wearing a royal-blue Renaissance-style gown, smiled at him.

"You look dashing," she complimented.

"Marion, I feel like an absolute fool," he groaned.

The couple turned around upon hearing a smothered snort of laughter. They saw Mutt leaning against the doorjamb with his arms crossed.

"Mom was right," Mutt observed, trying and failing to conceal his smirk. "You do make a good Musketeer."

Indy groaned again. "Do we really have to go?" he asked.

"Yes," replied Marion as she fixed a tiara to her hair.

"Why?" He sounded like a kid who didn't want to go shopping.

Marion turned to face him, hands on her hips. "First of all, I spent hours, no, _weeks _sewing our costumes, buster. Secondly, you're the associate dean now. How would look if you missed the masquerade ball?"

"Call and tell them I got some tropical disease while I was in Peru," Indy suggested.

Marion frowned dangerously. "We are going to the ball if I have to drag you kicking and screaming."

_'Probably would, too,' _thought Indy. He sighed loudly to signal he had resigned himself to his situation.

Marion turned her attention to their son. "Do you remember where the big bowl of candy bars is?" she asked.

"Can't I just leave it on the porch?" Mutt wanted to know.

"We already discussed this," said Marion. "You agreed to stay here and hand out candy to the trick-or-treaters."

"But, Mom, it's Halloween," Mutt protested. "Arnie's is having a sock hop and everyone's gonna be there."

"If you wanna jump around in your socks, you can do that in the kitchen. But I'd be careful if I were you; your mom just waxed the floor," Indy warned.

Mutt rolled his eyes; his old man was so clueless.

Marion checked the clock. "We really have to get going, sweetheart," she said. "There's leftover chicken in the fridge if you want to make a sandwich. Don't eat all the candy; it's for the trick-or-treaters." She kissed her son on the cheek.

"And no parties either, kid," added Indy, tilting his hat to what he felt was a more rakish angle.

Mutt watched his parents walk out the front door, then went into the kitchen to look for the bowl of candy. He dug through the bowl until he found a Milky Way bar, his favorite. He unwrapped it and began munching it. He'd just grabbed a notepad, a pencil, and some tape from Indy's office when the doorbell rang.

"Damn it," Mutt swore under his breath.

He walked over to the front door and opened it.

"Trick or treat!" chanted a group of kids on the doorstep. There was a little boy dressed as Superman, a little girl dressed as a witch, and another little boy dressed as a pirate.

Mutt dipped his hand into the bowl and dropped about three candy bars into each kid's pillowcase.

"Thank you!" the kids squealed happily.

They were under the impression that Mutt had given them extra candy because he liked their costumes so much. No, Mutt just wanted to get the night over with as soon as possible so he could get to Arnie's. He hastily scribbled a note that read: "Take as many as you want. Happy Halloween." He taped it to the bowl and extracted his motorcycle keys from his jacket. The doorbell rang again. This time there was a lone trick-or-treater, a little blond girl in a Tinkerbell costume.

"Hey, what kind of candy---"

The rest of Mutt's words were drowned out by a piercing scream from the little girl. She ran down the front walk, screaming, "Mommy! There's a hood at Dr. Jones' house!"

Mutt resented being called a hood, but he wasn't gonna let some six-year-old kid upset him. He left the bowl of candy on the front step and headed for his bike in the driveway. About ten minutes later, he reached Arnie's. He parked on the side of the building and approached the diner. Through the window, he saw the interior had been decorated with orange and black balloons and streamers.

Mutt stepped inside. A jack-o-lantern grinned eeriely from the lunch counter. Tables near the jukebox had been pushed out of the way to make room for the large crowd of dancing teens. Mutt saw a number of people he recognized from Rydell, namely a group of girls who called themselves the Pink Ladies and a gang of greaser guys named the T-Birds. Waitresses were wading through the crowd, bringing shakes and burgers to the few kids who weren't dancing.

Mutt looked around to see if his favorite waitress (and friend) Johanna was among them. She wasn't, which he thought was odd. She'd been at school that day, so it was unlikely she was sick. He scanned the room again and realized why he hadn't spotted her right away. Johanna had traded her school dress for saddle shoes, bobby socks, a fluffy black poodle skirt, white blouse, and her Pink Ladies jacket; a scarf that matched her jacket was tied around her ponytail. She was even wearing a little makeup. Currently, Johanna was chatting up one of the T-Birds, a strong, tall blond named Kenickie. He had quite a few female admirers due to his resemblance to the late actor James Dean.

The music suddenly stopped, so someone walked over to the jukebox and fed a few more coins into it. A fast, upbeat tune blasted through the restaurant, starting up a fresh flurry of dancing. Mutt's eyes traveled back to Kenickie and Johanna. He was too far away to hear what they were saying, but he could clearly see Johanna standing on her tiptoes, tugging lightly on the sleeve of Kenickie's black leather jacket. She seemed to be pleading with him about something. Kenickie nodded, placed a hand on the small of her back, and guided her toward the crowd of dancers. Once they were among the crowd, he held Johanna in a cross-body lead.

"You can't be serious," Mutt said quietly to himself. He'd been waiting months for the right time to make a move on Johanna.

He stood and watched them. Johanna and Kenickie were stepping, twirling, and dipping as one; they clearly knew their way around the dance floor. It wasn't long before they were warmed up and Johanna was dancing with Kenickie in a slightly suggestive manner.

"What does she see in that clown?" Mutt said bitterly.

A girl with ginger hair, also in a Pink Ladies jacket, waded through the crowd toward him. "Hi, Mutt," she said in her high-pitched voice, offering a toothy grin.

"Hey, Frenchie," Mutt greeted dully.

"Awww, why the long face, honey?" she asked concernedly.

"It's nothing," said Mutt. He didn't want anyone else to learn about his feelings for Johanna, but a question came tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop it. "Since when are Johanna and Kenickie going together?"

Frenchie bit her lip. "I don't know if I'm supposed to tell you this, but..."

"But what?"

"Well, ya see, Johanna wanted to go to the hop with somebody else. Only that somebody else never asked her." Frenchie began. "She called me up cryin' so hard I thought she was havin' hysterics or something. So I talked to a few people and Danny Zuko, you know him, right? Well, he talked to Kenickie, who talked to Johanna and asked her out to the movies last week. They had such a good time he asked her to the hop before the movie was even over." She sighed. "Isn't that romantic?"

"Yeah, sure," said Mutt, not even trying to sound like he meant it. "But who was he? I mean, the one she wanted to go with?"

Frenchie bit her lip again and averted her eyes.

"Me?" Mutt pointed to himself.

Frenchie made sure Johanna wasn't looking their way before saying, "Yes."

"Why didn't she ever say anything?" Mutt wanted to know.

"She did. She asked if you were going to the Halloween hop and you acted like you would go with anybody in the world but her."

"But that's not true." Mutt protested.

"I didn't think it was either, but there's nothing we can do about it now. I'm sorry, Mutt."

"I better go," said Mutt. He felt like such a heel. Why hadn't he realized Johanna's reason for bringing up the hop? He certainly would've taken her if he'd known.

He headed for the door, intending to drown his sorrows in chocolate when he got home.

**THE END**


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